Wimps and posers leave the hall. Go back to your faux-tastemakers’ playlists on Youtube. But for all you true people who are down to fuck: we welcome you to the freak party with open arms.

Last month’s meatloaf leftovers, wrapped in foil and placed into the microwave (on high) for 60 seconds. Fungus dies as sparks fly, but the heat purifies your blessed feast. Soak it in ketchup to help soften the encrusted ball of flesh. Your bowels will thank you for the inevitable tarry purge that will follow this meal. With friends like these, who needs enemas?

Can you imagine walking into an isolated convenience store at an obscure hour? The person behind the counter is a secret taste genius and is playing the best music you've never heard (or maybe you feel like you must have heard it, but can't remember what it is). You're trying to play it cool but have literally never had more of a thrill pretending to shop for smoked peanuts or sno-balls or whatever and you're lingering way longer than is normal. You're a creep. Who cares about gender or orientation, you're in love with this person.